


If Only...

by DiamondPanda48



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Eliza is still innocent, F/M, I can’t tag, after the duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-27 22:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondPanda48/pseuds/DiamondPanda48
Summary: It’s 1807. Philip Hamilton II has turned 5. His mother was struggling to raise his siblings. Alone. He couldn’t remember his father, who was famous and revered. His siblings told him stories of him. John was great at telling stories. He was named after his genius of a brother who had died almost 6 years ago. He had two colossal expectations to live up to.But what if he can’t?





	If Only...

**Author's Note:**

> Not much historical basis for this. See, I like doing unique fanfics because I despise seeing the same ideas over and over again. Hope you enjoy!

     It was 1807.

     Philip had turned 5.

     To specify, Philip II.

     The youngest Hamilton child.

     The only one who didn’t remember his own father.

     Sure, Eliza had faint memories of him, but at least she remembered his father’s face.

     And the only one that was named after his brother.

     Philip II. If only he could erase the second part of his name. Philip would do. He didn’t need the stigma of being the  _second_  Philip Hamilton. Of being the one to carry on what his genius brother had begun.

     He was merely a young boy, hardly 5.

     But he had the mind of somebody 10 times his age.

     He had witnessed grief.

     He had witnessed insanity from his poor sister.

     He had witnessed poverty.

     He had witnessed sacrifice.

     And even if he had no recollection of it, he had also witnessed death.

     There were some days when his dear Mama would be forced to eat nothing but stale bread crumbs and drink no more than a glass full of water to let him, Eliza, and Angelica eat properly.

     His dear, sweet Mama who never complained about anything. Who never raised her voice at anybody. Who would sing him and his sister to sleep every night. Who never was angry. Who would never cry and hide the family’s debt from the children to keep them from worrying.

     But he would hear her reading things at night. When he had asked her what, she had responded, “Somebody who I swore to love forever, even in death.”

     Now, he automatically knew that the person was his father. But what about him was he reading?

     His mother had always avoided answering his questions.

     But he knew exactly what they were.

     Letters.

     He had gotten into his mother’s letterbox, where she kept her most prized ones. It was filled with letters from his father. Love letters. To his love.

     He read them all. There were so many. Some of them close three decades old. But that wasn’t the point. They made his father come to life. He had been a real, breathing person. Not a figment of his family’s imagination or a mythical tale about his famous father.

     Sure, John was great at telling stories, and on her better days, Angelica would tell him stories about him. Alexander came home sometimes, but he was always busy. James was in King’s, and William was always at school.

     And not to mention his brother.

     Philip hated the second part of his name. He was the second Philip. The one to carry on what his genius brother had begun. The one who was named after him in honor of his death. The one who had died before his father. The firstborn.

     His siblings told him stories about him. How he, the second, was so much like the first. How he, the second, would make the first proud. If only he wasn’t compared so much to his namesake.

     Still, life continued. For better or worse.

     His mother still held the family together. Angelica still hadn’t returned to a stable state. Aunt Angelica still visited frequently. He and Eliza would still argue but remain best friends. His siblings still occasionally came home.

     The tutors would teach him. Some were the same that his brother had. And, exactly like his siblings, they would compare him to the first Philip.

     Philip the first seemed like such a dedicated scholar. Something that the second could never dream of becoming.

     If only...

     If only was such an overused phrase in his life. Except for the major fact that his entire life revolved around it in the first place.

                                     ⚜️⚜️⚜️

     45  _years later_

     Philip was grown. His dear mother was quickly aging. He had his own children now. His dear wife, Rebecca, had raised his two young sons while he had been off in California for the gold rush.

     He had practiced law for a number of years. Perhaps it was time.

     He had never been as bright as his eldest brother. He had never even attended college like the rest of his brothers had. But he was satisfied.

     He no longer felt like he had expectations anymore. Philip Hamilton the first was now a distant memory. His father had been forgotten, just like his brother. Except for one person:

     His mother.

     A woman of such incredible strength. As an aging woman, she still loved her husband more than ever. She continued to hold on to the single reassurance that she and “her Hamilton” would be gloriously reunited. Someday, someday.

     His mother, who was still concerned about his health, even when he himself was 50 years of age. His mother, who all women, in his mind, should aspire to be. His mother, though having short term memory and her senses rapidly deteriorating, was still lively with the bright spark in her dark eyes that had attracted his own father, so many years ago. His mother, who had remained faithful for 48 years after his father’s untimely death. She was living with his sister, Eliza in DC, away from their beloved New York.

     Peace. If only was no longer a wishful statement. It was now a way to set a goal for himself. He could follow his own path. He didn’t need to be defined solely by his father and brother.

     If only. There was only one last thing that was wishful about the statement.

     If only he could see his father.

     There were so many choices, and yet he chose one of the two completely impossible ones.

     Did he regret it?

     Of course not.

     For he knew that it showed blatant disregard towards death severing the rope of little connection to his father. Even in death, his father could never truly die.

     As the youngest child of his mother and father, he had much to live up to.

     Did he fulfill all of it?

     No. He had never been a founding father, he had never attended college, he had never been a Major General, he had never fought in a war. He had never become widely famous. Rumors about him were not spread. He was not a prominent political figure. He was not anything more than a lawyer.

     But did he enjoy the ride full of rough turns and sharp stops?

     Every moment.

     And that was the difference between Philip Hamilton and his namesake.

     If only...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I tried to resolve the angst in the later part. Did I succeed?
> 
> Special thanks to Bhurr, Sir on Hamilton Amino for the idea, inspiration, and moral support!
> 
> Constructive criticism in the comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
